“Thank you.”
He left her office and turned down the hallway toward the workroom and back exit.
Robin picked up the wadded towels and wiped the lingering moisture from the corner of her desk. She tossed the ice pack into the freezer of her mini-fridge and started to gather her things to follow Hope and Emma to the apartment across the street.
But Robin didn’t get very far before the ache in her shoulder, the weight on her mind and the emptiness of her office suddenly overwhelmed her. She sank into the desk chair and hugged the towels to her chest, unsure whether she felt like cursing or crying. Her body was exhausted, her brain weary, and yet, she was too revved up to sleep. She couldn’t drop her guard like that again. She had Emma’s well-being to consider, not just her own. How could she make a selfish choice like working late, relying on a silly whistle to keep her safe? Only one thing had made her feel safe tonight. Only one thing had finally quieted Emma.
Lonergan. He looked more like the muscle-bound henchmen she’d seen in a dozen action-adventure movies than he did any Hollywood heartthrob.
And yet tonight, he’d been her hero.
She lifted the towels to her face and buried her nose in their cool dampness. The scent of her rescuer still lingered there, spicy and clean—dangerous, somehow. More dangerous than any threat lurking out there in the dark streets.
That was what she needed to feel safe and in control of her world again. What she needed to keep her daughter safe. He was what she needed. No one could make her afraid if he was around.
Except maybe the man himself.
Ignoring a twinge of common sense that warned her she was putting her hope in someone she didn’t completely understand, Robin dropped the towels and dashed into the hallway to catch up with Spencer Montgomery.
“Detective?” Montgomery turned as he shrugged into a dark blue KCPD raincoat at the shop’s back door. “If you find Mr. Lonergan, would you let me know? I’d like to thank him.”
The detective offered her a curt nod before following his partner and the CSI out the back door.
Chapter Four
Forty minutes later, Robin shut off the lights in the empty shop and turned, breathing in the familiar scents of freesia, gardenias and chemical preservatives. Guided by the lights inside the refrigerated display case opposite the front counter, she opened a glass door and pulled out a lavender gladiolus that was sagging over the edge of its pot.
She looked at the broken stem in her hand, recognizing the tidying up for the stall tactic it was. With a groan of disgust at her seeming inability to function with any sense of urgency, she tossed the wilted flower into the trash and headed to her office. “Get out of here, Robin,” she chided herself.
There was no reason for her to be afraid to leave. KCPD felt confident enough in the security of her building that they had all gone. There was no more ambulance in the parking lot, no cadre of reporters waiting on the sidewalk for a glimpse of the Rose Red Rapist’s latest alleged “victim,” no reason to be fearful inside the business where she’d spent so many happy, hardworking, successful hours of her life.
She crossed the lobby to check the front door again, even though it had never been unlocked since she’d closed it at nine. Bolted tight. Alarm sensors on.
She could relax her guard and leave now, right?
Only, there wasn’t a brain cell in her head or a bruised muscle on her body that seemed to be relaxing.
The rain outside was still coming down in buckets, although the thunder and lightning had finally eased their fury. An eerie sense of déjà vu washed over her. Not five hours ago, she’d stood in the same place, thinking of how the rain nourished her flowers and grass. Her biggest concerns had been a few lousy numbers and a daughter who wouldn’t sleep. She’d felt more confident—more naive, perhaps—the last time she’d stared out this window. Five hours
He left her office and turned down the hallway toward the workroom and back exit.
Robin picked up the wadded towels and wiped the lingering moisture from the corner of her desk. She tossed the ice pack into the freezer of her mini-fridge and started to gather her things to follow Hope and Emma to the apartment across the street.
But Robin didn’t get very far before the ache in her shoulder, the weight on her mind and the emptiness of her office suddenly overwhelmed her. She sank into the desk chair and hugged the towels to her chest, unsure whether she felt like cursing or crying. Her body was exhausted, her brain weary, and yet, she was too revved up to sleep. She couldn’t drop her guard like that again. She had Emma’s well-being to consider, not just her own. How could she make a selfish choice like working late, relying on a silly whistle to keep her safe? Only one thing had made her feel safe tonight. Only one thing had finally quieted Emma.
Lonergan. He looked more like the muscle-bound henchmen she’d seen in a dozen action-adventure movies than he did any Hollywood heartthrob.
And yet tonight, he’d been her hero.
She lifted the towels to her face and buried her nose in their cool dampness. The scent of her rescuer still lingered there, spicy and clean—dangerous, somehow. More dangerous than any threat lurking out there in the dark streets.
That was what she needed to feel safe and in control of her world again. What she needed to keep her daughter safe. He was what she needed. No one could make her afraid if he was around.
Except maybe the man himself.
Ignoring a twinge of common sense that warned her she was putting her hope in someone she didn’t completely understand, Robin dropped the towels and dashed into the hallway to catch up with Spencer Montgomery.
“Detective?” Montgomery turned as he shrugged into a dark blue KCPD raincoat at the shop’s back door. “If you find Mr. Lonergan, would you let me know? I’d like to thank him.”
The detective offered her a curt nod before following his partner and the CSI out the back door.
Chapter Four
Forty minutes later, Robin shut off the lights in the empty shop and turned, breathing in the familiar scents of freesia, gardenias and chemical preservatives. Guided by the lights inside the refrigerated display case opposite the front counter, she opened a glass door and pulled out a lavender gladiolus that was sagging over the edge of its pot.
She looked at the broken stem in her hand, recognizing the tidying up for the stall tactic it was. With a groan of disgust at her seeming inability to function with any sense of urgency, she tossed the wilted flower into the trash and headed to her office. “Get out of here, Robin,” she chided herself.
There was no reason for her to be afraid to leave. KCPD felt confident enough in the security of her building that they had all gone. There was no more ambulance in the parking lot, no cadre of reporters waiting on the sidewalk for a glimpse of the Rose Red Rapist’s latest alleged “victim,” no reason to be fearful inside the business where she’d spent so many happy, hardworking, successful hours of her life.
She crossed the lobby to check the front door again, even though it had never been unlocked since she’d closed it at nine. Bolted tight. Alarm sensors on.
She could relax her guard and leave now, right?
Only, there wasn’t a brain cell in her head or a bruised muscle on her body that seemed to be relaxing.
The rain outside was still coming down in buckets, although the thunder and lightning had finally eased their fury. An eerie sense of déjà vu washed over her. Not five hours ago, she’d stood in the same place, thinking of how the rain nourished her flowers and grass. Her biggest concerns had been a few lousy numbers and a daughter who wouldn’t sleep. She’d felt more confident—more naive, perhaps—the last time she’d stared out this window. Five hours
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